Seminar – taking stock

• “The Animal” – Clark sensei responded to someone who was basically commenting how it “feels like nothing” when you do the technique and your partner falls down. Perhaps the question was, how do you assess and improve the skill if you can’t feel when you succeed? Clark brought up the concept of the “animal” that we feed with the feeling of success or otherwise working away at something (eg wrestling with someone, overpowering someone). Getting better at technique means becoming able to do technique in a way that doesn’t give you that feedback that “feeds the animal”. Conversely, if feeding the animal is your incentive for practicing, then your technical improvement will accordingly stay at a level at which you can still feed the animal. To move on, you have to starve it.
  An immediate thought I had was how the animal can adapt to different “diets”. And, because the animal isn’t being fed by the initial diet, I might be in danger of feeding it without noticing. This is a question of  internal awareness and introspection, one that could be the biggest one I took away from that weekend. It was one of those “Ag!” moments where I realized I didn’t really understand what my teacher was getting at years ago. I’ve already had a couple of “Ag!” occasions where I thought I understood why Endo sensei was so persistent about the idea of feeling oneself and not being captivated by the partner to the point of not noticing or ignoring the partner.
  My “project” now is to notice the animal’s current diet.
• The value of a group to which you belong, or a “kai”.
  Talking with some of the Jiyushinkan people, I could see on one hand how much they were developing as human beings from their practice because they belonged to a coherent, cohesive group. Belonging entails having a set a values, priorities, relationships, reference points – all of which entail having an identity. Paradoxically, being able to have an identity enables a person to question themselves and thereby grow.
  On the other hand, and this is not a piece that is strictly wedded to being in a group, there is the aspect of “other”. That is, belonging to a group influences how you see people outside of the group and how your experience is when you encounter such people. The main, possibly only, danger lies here, in that that development of “other” could go poorly. Precisely because the danger lies here, a person’s way of mitigating that danger is to initiate encounters with it (ie interact with “others”) and continue to be/become the person he/she is trying to become. So, if belonging to a group involves any related danger, it is to minimize exposure to “other” and increase the possibility of a person’s grasp of “self” and “other” to go awry.
• Premises and assumptions.
  Examining the assumptions that I place myself under in my practice is a good way to contemplate why I am practicing, what I think is important, how I prioritize, what I’m trying to get out of it.
  To start from specifics, I think I don’t value reversals as much as I value absorption and efficient use of energy. I probably value continuity more than intentional acceleration/deceleration. I think I value surrendering myself to my partner’s actions more than consciously deciding or knowing what we are doing from moment to moment.
  I probably value demanding, or encouraging, a pre-decided form to happen by making my own openings rather than my partner’s openings apparent. This could have something to do with boundaries, but particularly when I’m dealing with someone I’m not familiar with or with a beginner, I will be more likely to leave the windows of opportunity open, and close them with people I’m more familiar with and of a higher level. Of course the premise is that I think one dimension of an interaction with a partner is awareness of who they are and when something is being artificially, rather than organically, given/taken. I don’t know if this reflects my attitude on social context or my aikido development.
  Why? Why choose these assumptions? For the first assumption, at the risk of providing an evasive answer, I like “neru” practice. I like the idea of striving for unconscious awareness and accepting whatever comes. As mentioned above, with a higher level partner I can “keep a channel open” for my own agenda (eg attacking and putting them down, or reversing) but it’s not an emphasis.
  As for the second assumption, again at the risk of an evasive answer, I think that that is more in accordance with my philosophy of life at this point. It’s likely also how I’ve “starved my animal”, at least in one way.

Judging

I like analysing people. Now I try not to focus on judging others, guessing what they are like and what they might be thinking about, but I still watch others in the street to observe the way they walk.

Since I can remember, I’ve never really gotten how people seem to use the word “judge”. It seems to carry a negative connotation. “Assess” seems to make some people feel better. I wonder if people’s negative take on “judge” has something to do with perceiving that one is separate with others, that one can observe the world and not be a part of it.

I have a thing with posture. It might have something to do with my bad eyesight. I notice posture/comportment from far away – it enables me to identify people when I can’t see their face. Not only do I notice it in a pure sense, I notice it in a subjective sense i.e., if someone’s posture is really bad or really good, I take notice. I can acknowledge that I’m noticing because it’s good or bad – I don’t mind too much saying so. Perhaps this is when people don’t like the word “judge”. “Who are you to say that person’s posture is good/bad?”

But the bottom line is a significant part of why I notice what I notice is due to my subjective experience of the thing. The above has been about good/bad, possibly beautiful/ugly. What about other dimensions?

For example, at some point in aikido I started to pay attention to whether a person really meant to attack and experience the prescribed technique of the moment with me, or they meant to sort of attack, sort of let me do the technique but more fall down by themselves, sort of attack but be more concerned with blocking my atemi, prevent me from doing what we’d supposedly agreed upon, etc. This is not a simple good vs bad kind of aspect, yet I would say that it has to do with “judgment”.

Subjectively, the degree to which I experienced my attention being drawn to this aspect probably puts me more at the sensitive end of the spectrum. It was something that pushed my buttons. Thus it was about attachment and something I have worked on. However, though I’d like to be free of the attachment, I never thought to give up on becoming a better and better judge of people’s intentions.

As I got more and more accurate, and more and more free of becoming attached/captivated, I became more and more able to see the situation. The current situation as what came before and what’s reasonable (not forced) to happen next. Thus, in aikido techniques, the interaction with the partner could happen earlier, time-wise. However, from my perspective it is happening at the right time. “Early” is only relative to the point in time I perceived our interaction as starting as I would have reported one year ago, ten years ago, etc.

If someone is about to attack me in practice, and I can tell they don’t like me or have some problem with me, I try to see it, see how I am with having perceived that, and accept it all. If I don’t like that I’m feeling my partner is being suspicious of me or scared of me or whatever, I don’t think to stop judging  – stop judging because I might not be right or because judging only introduces information that is possibly useless. Not only is it (to deal with attachment and greater self-awarness) part of my area of interest and motivation to do such a practice as aikido, it is also relevant to the execution of technique on an “aiki” level, territory I think I’ve started to delve into recently.

As a human being, it makes sense to me to take into account how a person’s emotional state is when I am try to see all of how a person is. As a human being who is in the learning process, it makes sense to take advantage of my strengths in the process; if I am more adept at noticing certain details, I should continue, not stop, to refine the noticing of those details so that it serves me in my learning. If I notice something because it makes me feel good or bad, so be it. It is not the assessing, judging, or noticing that is counterproductive but the attachment to and captivation by the same.

Learning, “Sunao” (again)

Re: Got pwned by boxer =-(

I’ve been getting a kick out of reading George Ledyard’s recent posts on Aikiweb partly because he bothers to post what I feel it’s too much trouble to partly because he manages to express what I will become very tangential about, and partly because he hasn’t posted in some time.

One thing I’m revisiting is “stupid” questions. A lot of questions virtually all of us have at one point or another are likely good and valid questions that simply arise too early relative to our current level of understanding. The correct or fitting answer to the questions would be incomprehensible and unsatisfying to the person asking. Thus the fitting answer wouldn’t necessarily be to the question, as if it were in a vacuum, but to the person asking the question. However it’s easy to confuse the two – at least it is for me.

I think it is incredibly arrogant for our current generation to assume that knowledge that has been handed down in various arts for hundreds of years is now suddenly outdated and irrelevant and that we know better.

The assumptions and the corresponding questions above are coming out of a certain perspective or understanding. It’s not that the questions are arrogant. It’s more that, because the questions are valid, the person asking presumes that the perspective from which the question originated is valid also. That is, the perspective/understanding is overlooked, and this is what is arrogant. The arrogance manifests in reality when an individual moves on to the next step of, “So, based on my understanding and the resulting question, how to change my current approach so that it answers the question? That is, I believe my understanding, that the current approach isn’t cutting it, is accurate. All those other people, I don’t think they’ve asked this important question; or, if they have, they went through the same process I’m going through now in order to answer it, which is to change my current approach.”

Some people recognize this and “humbly” go back and work on their understanding eternally. “Questions are bad. Just keep practicing.” As a rigid approach, or tool, this is bad. The questions might be useful and productive if kept in mind while one’s understanding develops. But the motivation to keep, or keep wondering about, the question is valuable.

(Likely when one has an image of “arrogance” and “humble”, they are more of the emotional, or charged type, such as “snobby”, “condescending”, or “quiet”, “self-derecating”. For both of these qualities I am considering the overcertainty/overconfidence in one’s apprehension, not the affect, so to speak. )

It takes some individual innovation, which is definitely catalyzed by exposure to and inspiration from high level practitioners, to come to see a way of doing the same thing but in a different way. Outwardly it is mostly the same, but something is mysteriously different. The shallow, or possibly arrogant, way is to only imitate the outward appearance. But the key to depth is to continue to wonder what is happening inwardly that results in this thing we can see outwardly. Not just see, but feel. Thus, working with receptively a high level person is crucial. By following their trajectory, so to speak, but inevitably being on another trajectory as another being and therefore facing the issue of knowing and accepting my own trajectory, it’s possible to surpass them or go in such a way that the comparison becomes moot.

3) None of the ones I know advocate training in a “fully resistive” training environment. The folks who believe that kata training is dead and lifeless don’t understand kata training. If it is dead, lifeless, done by rote it isn’t proper kata training. Traditionally, the senior person always took the losing role in paired forms. Why? Because it was his job to ASSIST his junior partner in developing his understanding of the movements and principles at work in the kata. It was his job to control the interaction in a way that his partner was forced to access the proper skills. It was not his job to shut him down or to fight with him.

As my level becomes better able to shut a person down, I’m better able to regulate controlling the interaction. If the other person’s learning experience is a part of my agenda, then my aim is to require them “to access the proper skills”, which specifically means requiring them to do the particular movement form, or manifestation of particular principles or dynamics, which includes making it nonsensical to do other forms or principles. At one part of the spectrum, I might make attempts to do other forms/principles impossibly difficult. At another I might leave it possible but awkward; this would be based on the expectation that the other person have some inclination for inquiry, noticing for him/herself that it feels awkward and seek a less awkward way.

6) Aikido is the study of connection. The term “aiki” is best thought of as “joining”. It is the combination of the physical and mental in a way that allows on to move an opponent’s mind so that he moves himself. This requires complete relaxation both physical and mental. It requires letting go of our attachments so that we can step right into the path of a sword cut without fear.

The endeavor to become able to step into the path of a cut is to acquire a skill, which inevitably has mental and physical components. This is probably where one can make the presumption that the mental, and by extension “spiritual”, aspects of the endeavor are self-evident. However, people don’t naturally have a tendency to perceive, savor, and embrace their experience, instead repressing and perceiving just enough to get by. Surely the reasons for this are a whole discussion topic in themselves. Endeavoring to not repress but instead consciously incorporate the mental aspect of acquiring and honing the skill is central.

If you wish to reprogram the body and the mind to fundamentally trust that relaxing and accepting an attack is the response that can make one safe you must provide a safe environment in which to do so. Traditional paired kata training provided a structure within which the practitioners could take things right to the edge in relative safety.

Providing safety and security for others is a theme that relates to a lot of conflict in human history. Virtually always we have a rationale for seeking more security for ourselves, taking priority over giving it to others. It starts to feel like giving it to others takes it away from ourselves. Maybe be human beings inherently have a tendency to feel that there is never enough security. In order for me to trust my practice partners enough to give me space to drop my defenses, I would need not only their word or their intention but I’d need them to follow through consistently. Those with the ability to follow through are probably those who are skilled. People who are skilled are not necessarily inclined to give others space to drop their defenses. So an invaluable asset for me as a newer student is a senior who is able and also actually following through in giving me some coherent, rational, and meaningful space to practice relaxation and exercising specific behaviors and mental patterns.

But one thing is certain, as far as I am concerned… you will not learn these very sophisticated skills training in a competitive manner. Aiki is about developing physical and mental sensitivity. It requires that you shut up the internal dialogue so you can listen to the partner / opponent. If you are tense you are feeling you not the other. That’s true both in the body and in the mind.

…If your practice develops your understanding of how the Mind and Body are unified and that on a fundamental level your are simply not separate from those around you, regardless of whether they see themselves as your friend or enemy, then the art “works”.

If your training merely results in your ability to throw or lock an opponent who doesn’t wish you to do so, then the art hasn’t “worked”, not in the way that the Founder intended anyway.

Two CAA Essays

Gōdan Essay

Chuck Hauk
Aikido of Eugene
April 2007

“I’m sick and tired of her scamming us and I’m gonna’ evict her!” one of my co-workers said, angrily, about one of our residents.  I’ve worked in social services for over thirty years and for the last fifteen years I’ve worked at a Public Housing Authority.  I deal with low-income folks on a daily basis.  Many of them are under-educated, are just getting by day-by-day economically, are involved in negative relationships, have poor coping skills, and are often angry about their lot in life.  Some of them “scam” social service systems as a way of life, trying to maximize the benefits they receive in a time of decreasing budgets and limited options.  My co-worker’s frustration was showing that day; she was angry that one particular Public Housing resident was hiding household income, allowing unauthorized persons to stay with her in her subsidized rental unit and, in general, flaunting her almost continual violation of the rules.  The worker was going to evict the resident – which she was legally entitled to do — and she had worked herself into a feeling of righteous indignation as a prelude to doing that.

I sat down in her office and asked her if she had taken a look at the life this resident was living.  “You know, she’s living in a small, crowded three-bedroom rental unit with three kids.  Her 17-year-old has been arrested a couple of times and is facing time in jail.  We know that her mother, with whom she doesn’t get along, has moved in with her, without getting authorization and without reporting her income to us, which means she’ll owe us back rent for the unreported income.  Her last boyfriend, who was also living there without authorization, has left her pregnant.  She now has a new boyfriend, who is also living there without authorization.  She’s having a tough pregnancy, physically, and she wasn’t able to pay her rent last month and is now facing losing her subsidized housing and being put out on the street.”

“You don’t have to make this personally,” I told her.  “You can lay out the consequences for her behavior without making her the ‘bad guy.’ It’s not personal.  She’s not out to get you.”  Then I suggested that my co-worker try something different.  “Whenever you see a resident in this type of situation – before you get angry — think about her life and then think about yours.  You have a husband who loves you and four beautiful, healthy, smart daughters; you own your own home, where you love to garden in your large backyard; you and your husband have good jobs and are able to pay your bills; you have dependable cars; you have your health and family and friends who care for you.  What do you have to be angry at her about?”

I suggested that she take a few minutes and consider the incredible obstacles facing this particular resident and compare that to her own life, before getting into a personal argument with the resident.  I reminded her that she still needed to enforce the rules but suggested that she could probably do that from a compassionate point of view – a point of view that might even result in the resident straightening up and following the rules, instead of “digging her heels in” and, ultimately, being forced to leave Public Housing.

To her credit, my co-worker listened to what I had to say and actively considered it.  She ended up, after all that, having to evict the resident but she did it in a compassionate, caring way that resulted in the resident thanking her for the way she’d been treated.  A few months later I was pleasantly surprised when the co-worker pulled me aside and told me that she hadn’t been able to forget what I had suggested and that, in several subsequent situations, she had taken the time to sit back and look at the other person’s life in comparison to hers.  She said taking the time to do this had changed the way she approached these types of conflicts; that she made it less and less personal; and that she was actually able to do a better job because she had a better overall perspective.  In a few cases, she had been able to evoke a change of behavior on the part of the residents, rather than having to push them into an eviction.

***

The above anecdote resonated with me because it seemed to clearly exemplify the author’s sense (whether developed through aikido or not) of how one can view one’s own attitude as having consequence, how one can have ownership and control over one’s attitude and maintain certain functions (e.g., performing one’s duty of enforcing the housing rules). Even more, it showed how one can “naturally” know and sense these ways we affect and participate in interactions with others. I say “naturally” only to mean that it is done without effort and thinking, and feels like, “Of course. Is there any other way to do it?”

In the beginning, these other ways – other ways to act, to perceive, to feel – are not-usual. We already have a “usual”. We learn how to move physically in other ways through a practice like aikido. Since there is no real separation between physical and mental, learning and coming to feel “natural” with the “other” ways of acting are followed or accompanied by other ways of perceiving, feeling, and experiencing. Furthermore, if we can conceive that our mind “moves” – that is, it follows certain habitual patterns, can be tense or relaxed, etc. just like our body – then we can actually be aware that our perceiving, feeling, and experiencing are “other” ways we are exercising or practicing also. Unfortunately, many people may discount the necessity to develop and nurture such awareness, perhaps with the reasoning that it is happening regardless or that the “skill”, not what it feels like to do the skill, is what is important, or that it is a flowery distraction or add-on. Of course going on through life without noticing may feel fine and dandy. But doing your practice in a way that nurtures your continuing ignorance will only make your world smaller and smaller.

The question one may find interesting or not is, if I were really advanced at aikido or simply had developed into a “big” person, what would be going through my mind, how would it feel, to avoid conflict? How would it be even if there were no overt conflict to avoid? At best, I’m sure it wouldn’t feel the same as it would be to be a person who is normal, or aggressive, employing some kind of de-escalating technique.

***

My biggest disappointment in almost 30 years of Aikido training is the realization that getting “better” at Aikido does not, necessarily, make you a “better” person.  There are plenty of Aikido students out there who are very good at Aikido techniques who don’t have the first inkling about taking Aikido principles off the mat and into their lives.  Why do we train in Aikido?  If we’re training just to become more proficient at throwing people, controlling people, “defending” ourselves against people, I’d suggest we’re missing the real purpose of this “dō” – this “way.”

I once heard an instructor say that he was disappointed that he didn’t hear the word “compassion” used more often on the mat.  His words had a strong impact on me.  I initially began my training in Aikido because it appeared to me to be a methodical, physical way of training that would result in my being more “aware.”  What I soon realized is that just training on the mat would not be enough.  The principles of Aikido have to be practiced off the mat for real change to occur.  There has to be a conscious effort to continually practice what we’re learning, in all situations – on and off the mat.  Look around you at the next seminar and watch your seniors.  Which ones do you want to emulate? In addition to their technical skills on the mat, which instructors also conduct themselves off the mat in a way that you admire – that you want to emulate?  Which instructors show integrity, caring, compassion, respect, humor, discipline, and intelligence in their day-to-day interactions with others?  I would suggest those are the instructors you should want as your role models.

As I approached my Shōdan years ago, I was fortunate to have a very technically-gifted instructor, who had been a student of a well-known Shihan.  The Shihan was quoted as saying that my instructor had been his “best student” and his “worst student,” having learned virtually everything the Shihan had to offer on the mat and virtually nothing of what the Shihan had to offer for off the mat.  This also had an impact on me.  I didn’t see the behavior in my instructor off the mat that I wanted to emulate, in spite of wonderfully powerful Aikido technique on the mat.  I took my leave of this instructor and moved on.

Why are you training?  Aikido is a martial arts “way” – it is a discipline whose real purpose is self-development, self-awareness.  The question of whether or not Aikido is an “effective” martial art is almost irrelevant.  If you are not confronting the true enemy – yourself – I would suggest you’re not truly benefiting from this beautiful art and discipline.  Almost thirty years later, I still deal with fear each time I get on the mat.  Am I really training hard enough?  Am I strong enough?  Disciplined enough?  Good enough?  Can I deal with real conflict, with strong, committed attacks that push me?  And off the mat, I still deal with similar questions.  Am I compassionate enough?  Am I working hard enough?  Am I doing the best I can?  Am I strong enough?  Disciplined enough?  Good enough?  Can I deal with real conflict, with strong, committed attacks that push me?

I’ve made progress, but I still have a long way to go.  Let me leave you with my own, personal kōan, which you are free to use:

How insufferable would I be without my Aikido Training?

In gasshō…

Living Aikido
By Diana Hedstrom
July 2006 (pdf)

John Ruskin said, “The test of a truly great man or woman is their humility. I do not mean by humility, doubt of their own power. But really great people have a curious feeling that the greatness is not in them, but through them. And they see something divine in every other person and are endlessly, foolishly, incredibly merciful.” During my eight years of Aikido training I have had the privilege and honor of training under and with men and women who have, by living Aikido, demonstrated true humility and provided me with examples to strive to emulate.

As a 5th kyu, I attended my first out-of-state retreat at the California Aikido Association’s Summer Camp in California. I knew that the retreat would be attended, in large part, by yudansha; I wasn’t even sure if there would be mudansha present other than those from Aikido North. My brother Joe, a student of Aikido North, encouraged me to attend and to challenge myself by training with other Aikidoka attending the seminar. I finally agreed, surreptitiously thinking that I would train with the other Aikido North students who would surely take pity on me. The first day on the mat a yudansha bowed into me, smiling. I did the best tenkan blend I knew how; I was focused so intently on performing that I broke into a sweat from the mental and physical exertion. Immediately following that class, the same woman came up to me and politely asked how long I had been training. I’m sure that it was quite obvious to this yudansha that I was a novice. She then asked if I would like to work on some basic moves between classes. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Not only did she work with me during class but she was willing to meet me on her “breaks” between classes, to spend her valuable training time with a 5th kyu. On that day, Yuki Hara, then a 5th Dan, empowered me with the belief that as a middle aged woman I could learn Aikido. She understood that to many older women there is a tendency to have a negative self-image – to doubt our ability to accomplish all that we are capable of doing. Yuki Sensei proved to me that women could be accomplished in Aikido; she also demonstrated one of the basic tenets of humility, selfless service. Not only did she take me under her care, she did so with the spirit of love and compassion not out of a sense of duty or a desire for recognition. Since that day, Yuki Senei has remained, as my female mentor,  “…endlessly, foolishly, incredibly merciful” and has exemplified for me the true nature of Aikido.

Koshiyama Sensei, my teacher, also epitomizes humility. Reverend Donna Byrns once said, “Humility gives the power to perceive situations, to discern causes of obstacles and difficulties, and to remain silent. When one does express an opinion, it is non- critically with an open mind and with recognition of specialties, strengths, and
sensitivities of the self and others.” Koshiyama Sensei personifies this tenet. As a mudansha there were times that I discussed my “concerns” about the dojo with Sensei, confident in the righteousness of my position. Many times I was dismayed when my feelings or beliefs weren’t validated by Sensei. Oftentimes he would merely sit quietly and smile; occasionally he would interject another point of view. While he was always willing and available to discuss my “concerns,” I left these discussions bewildered. I am ashamed to admit, for a number of years I couldn’t understand why he didn’t validate and support my point of view. As time passed, however, I began to reflect on some of my “concerns” and realized that my “concerns” were based on my deficiencies. Sensei could have directly answered my questions or given me specific direction, but he patiently waited for me to have my epiphany. He realized that self-reflection was critical to my growth as an Aikidoka and that by giving me direction or correcting my “wrong thinking,” my misconceptions, he would be inhibiting my growth. He accepted me with all of my misconceptions and patiently waited for signs of maturation.

Both Koshiyama Sensei and Yuki Hara Sensei have provided me with a safe, nurturing and unconditionally positive environment for growth. I have nothing worth offering them in return, nor do they expect anything from me and yet I owe them a debt of incalculable magnitude. By personifying Aikido, they have helped to shape me into the person I am today and have provided me with examples of the type of person I would like to become. Whenever I see an opportunity to assist an Aikidoka or to do service for our dojo, I am happy to volunteer so that in some small way I can emulate them and contribute back to the art of Aikido.

I liked this essay for how it touched on humility and role models. The instructor’s patience is the same kind that I’ve experienced myself and, like the author, realized I had received only years later.

Sunao & Gimon

[There was a collection of writings by Kuroiwa sensei for which the link is now dead. Back when I translated a few of them, I must have figured there was a danger of this happening. Recently, on "agasan"'s blog, he/she put up an old interview of Kuroiwa sensei that touches on these writings. There was a section on "sunao" that I will put below:]

- Is there anything you can say for our new students?

As the saying goes, “Three years on a rock”, meaning, no matter how hard it is now, persevering will bring you what you want. What it really means is that it’s no good if you don’t feel “something” within 2 to 3 years.

That “something” is first a feeling of questioning that which you are being taught. That is, do you feel anything unnatural regarding the format in which you are taught. Nothing is perfect or complete, and effort is necessary to resolve such questioning. If you can pass 2, 3 years without feeling any questions, then you aren’t likely to advance much in the future. If it takes more than three years, you get lost in the flow of things. You may have some questions in the first 2, 3 years, but unless you resolve them then – and to resolve them means to feel “something” – then your training from then on is simply imitation and nothing with your individuality will arise.

To be extreme, it becomes a meaningless activity, only done for self-satisfaction. Of course such an activity cannot beget progress. With respect to whatever it is one is learning, there is a true straightforward, honest, open-ness (sunao) to throw out questions such as “Is this really okay?”, “I wonder if this is what that means?” If one simply takes in and is grateful for whatever they’re told, then it is not that true straightforward open-ness.

But when you’re a beginner, you can’t determine such a thing objectively. So no matter how mistaken or nonsensical the thing being taught, the beginner straightforwardly accepts it as is. And thus the tendency to not question develops.

Sunao. Straightforward. Sincere. Honest. Open. Forthright.
Gimon. Question. Doubt. Objection.

It is interesting, the dichotomy of selfishness and selflessness in the “coin” whose two sides this topic is about. In my own experience, I noticed and acknowledged my own ego, ambition, and aggression at some point. I decided against repression, stigmatism, and anything neurotic, and instead chose to make use of what I had.

The core was that I wanted more.

I wanted to be able to throw down the other person harder. I wanted to be more precise. I wanted to almost overwhelm my opponents with my technique. Sublimation, I think it’s called – “a defense mechanism that allows us to act out unacceptable impulses by converting these behaviors into a more acceptable form”. What potentially stood in my way toward “more”? Other people ceasing to want to practice with me. Not taking advantage of the experience and wisdom of my seniors and predecessors. Rigid attachment to a specific sense of what it would feel like “to be better”, “to throw harder”, etc. I suppose I never had any significant attachment in this sense.

So, in pursuing “more” I had to consider how to practice with others, who to refer to and how, continually be vigilant for that which not only stood in my way but was circuitous and a waste of time.

How to doubt, for example, a teacher, and still be open and forward-moving? It is impossible if I don’t have my own desire and hunger. If my teacher presents me with something I come to quickly doubt, what is my response? To wait for him to clarify (i.e., to amend himself) in a way that is satisfactory to me? To dismiss that piece of the art, that part of him, that episode in our relationship? To wait for my own understanding to improve, to have an epiphany someday, to presume that something is not useful to me now other than to remind me how immature I am and humble I should be? It is because I have my own desire and hunger (i.e., my ego) that I don’t wait for the external to satisfy me, that I don’t throw something away easily as it might be useful in another way, that I make use of my current experience of the teaching rather than wait for some future understanding, that I use the opportunity to revisit what it is I desire and hunger for. In this sense, it is both selfless and selfish.

If my teacher presents me with something to which my response is like, “Hm?” or “Huh?! What was that?” If I don’t pursue my own desire selfishly, then I pass by that opportunity that some part of me is indicating to myself by that little “Hm?”. If don’t pursue my interest and passively wait for it to happen or be handed to me, I might be waiting for a long time for the next time something similar to “Huh?!” to occur again. Not only might I be waiting and thereby wasting time by not learning about the external, ephemeral thing that made me go “Huh?!”, but I would be passing up the opportunity to examine what it is in my that has been and maybe continues to be impressed by that thing, as well as the opportunity to think on why that thing happened then but not every time or more frequently or with every person.

I imagine it is not uncommon to feel somewhat disillusioned when something that makes you go, “Huh?!” doesn’t happen every time or more often. There is an opportunity there to question: Am I being taken in, did I “drink the kool-aid”? Did it happen with that one other student because he’s been taken in? It was impressive but is it really valuable? Do I seek it or am I captivated by it because it’s impressive or valuable? Am I here in the long run, the big picture, because I seek that impressive thing? that valuable thing? or just to be around others who can do those impressive things?

Did I experience that impressive thing by chance? or was my teacher showing us intentionally? or showing someone specifically? show me? What were others’ reactions? Was everyone else impressed? Did he show that young aggressive guy, that scared, nervous person, that frenetic woman, etc. to communicate something to him/her? Was he showing us something by using that young aggressive guy, etc.? Do I have to be like that young guy to experience it for myself? Do I want to be like him? Do I want to experience it for myself or just be witness to it? Am I in this practice, am I coming here to be like that young guy? to just be witness to things?

One cannot be honest and straightforward if one is lazy, dull, shy, wary, unwilling to consider and face one’s addiction to security and comfort.

On Teaching and Practicing

jackwada.blogspot.com

One of the major things I look at when evaluating someone’s potential as a teacher is does that person teach or train when he/she is in the class? When Hikitsuchi sensei was leading the class, Anno sensei would train. If Yanase sensei had started the class, Tojima sensei would train. The other thing I look at, is does this person make the other person better? Often times one can dominate the other person either with an innundation of knowledge or in some cases superior physical skill, but do both people grow as a result of the training? Sometimes truly teaching something goes way past the other person having fun or the other person feeling good. Does the potential teacher have the ability to “wake up” the potential in the newer person? That can sometimes mean challenging outmoded patterns of behavior or destructive belief systems. But to challenge someone else, one must in effect constantly be challenging oneself. Hikitsuchi sensei insisted that aikido is “shugyo”, literally a path of constant personal growth.

During a time when due to my surgery I am off the mat for a little while, these are things that have been running through me. I hope they stimulate some important thought.

Piggybacking on the bold above…

There’s a way of practicing in which an uke thinks to make it difficult for the nage to execute the technique in order to make the practice more beneficial to the nage. There are so many different ways to make things difficult for nage that simply making it difficult cannot possibly categorically have an effect of benefit for the person encountering the difficulty. In fact, I think that there are very few and specific, rather than many, ways to challenge the nage intentionally that results in making the nage better. (This somehow relates to the existential dilemma of not being able to know for certain if what happens in an interaction between oneself and another is more due to oneself or the other, and which aspects.)

Nage is also not made better by simply feeling better. That is, by uke intentionally removing (or believing that he/she is anyway) all challenges and obstacles for nage, nage may feel like he/she is experiencing satisfaction (e.g., just the right amount and kind of effort). However, does nage benefit simply from a sense of satisfaction? Does nage benefit if the ease/satisfaction-challenge ratio is x% due to the pretense created or not by uke? Obviously this is an un-answerable question – all people are different, that x% is not really quantifiable, and even if it were, we aren’t machines that can replicate the exact same condition, at least not without mindfulness and adaptability. Conversely, if uke tries to create x amount of ease-challenge for nage, how does he/she determine how much is good? And good for whom? Even if I am practicing with someone with much less experience than myself, am I nothing but a provider of experience to my partner? How do I come up with that ideal I believe my partner should be experiencing? And should my practice be solely or primarily to achieve that ideal? If my partner has difficulty throwing me, do I change because I feel dissatisfied with our interaction or because I want them to feel a certain way? Maybe that certain way I want them to feel is encouraged. Or satisfied. Or maybe that certain way I want them to feel is to feel that I understand how they are. Or that we’re interacting, connecting.

For these latter cases, it’s more apparent that I need to be involved, i.e. that how I feel and what I’m going through are determining factors. How I feel may include a feeling a satisfaction, but in these cases it’s more apparent that that feeling is ephemeral. Furthermore, the experiences explored could include feelings (e.g., satisfaction, frustration, fear) and physical sensations (e.g., resistance, ‘te-gotae’, force, my partner’s balance being broken, my own posture being compromised, my own tension). Like a conversation, it may be satisfying afterward as well as during. However, during, we wouldn’t expect it to work for me to strive to make it satisfying – this kind of conversation would look neurotic or, if centering on the other person’s satisfaction, sycophantic. It’s satisfying because both the other person and I are engaging and participating. If it makes the other person better, smarter, more aware, wiser, etc., it is often not because I try to make them so. And I cannot make someone, say, wiser, by confounding them – at least not in one conversation. If they are left with something from one conversation, mull over it later, then perhaps it can lead to becoming better or wiser. But that thing that I leave them with does not necessarily directly correspond to what I desire them to leave with. Nor does it follow that leaving them with something that confounds them or makes them feel foolish will lead to their becoming wiser. Sometimes – maybe more than not – helping to lead a person experience something wisely enables them to know from hence forth what it is like to be wise. Attaining the experience of seeing something wisely does not necessarily correspond directly with pleasure or discomfort, ease or difficulty. And, unless I can somehow magically read the future thought patterns of my partner, I don’t know for sure if he/she will experience wisdom while I am leading him/her there. If he/she does achieve that experience (assuming that I somehow know what they’re experiencing) then I learn what it’s like, at least on that one occasion, what it’s like to lead that person to a wise experience. I learned something. I grew. Because “that occasion” is in fact every instant, every moment, this uncertainty and engagement can be practiced continuously. Misogi and challenging oneself are endeavors that are available at every moment.

So, while one may not know ahead of time exactly how the partner will get better, if one is interested in it, then that interest will play itself out in the kind of exploration and curiosity that manifest in one’s actions. How one’s interests, or other internal workings, manifest may have some relation to skill and experience. If the interest is pursued, then the partner will be likelier to see what one is pursuing.

Of course the partner is not a uniformly cut blank slate. If the partner is not participating in a conversation, then regardless of the curiosity and interest of the other person, then the partner will not truly experience the give and take, moment to moment dance, and convergence of a conversation.

Tangent: In fact, if I am not engaging and have a curious, interested person asking me questions or telling me about themselves, then I might feel intruded upon or even violated. “Why are they telling me all this? Do they want something from me? Why are they asking me all that? Are they questioning or mocking me?” Certainly it is not necessary to have a deep conversation, or have a conversation at all. And certainly if both parties in a conversation are interested and engaging, then a deeper conversation will be likelier. A deeper conversation doesn’t necessarily have to be severe or complex, yet there is an exchange, a give and take, rather than parrying, maneuvering, and stepping further away. And so, if I am interested in learning more, then it follows that I seek to experience that which I don’t necessarily expect or predict. That something is not strictly within the parameters, or “form”, I might initially see us in. This way correspond with experiencing and awareness. On the other hand, if I am positive that the exploration happen between certain parameters, then what am I exploring? If I am positive my partner should only talk between this topic area and that, and not stray outside, then am I conversing? Does that conversation have any possibility of going where I didn’t know of initially? Would I experience anything like, “Huh? Ahhh. I see”? Am I simply wanting someone to fill in a blank I am providing. “Please tell me the address of your home.” “Please show me how to make this thing on the computer.” “No, no. I’m not interested in the color of your home or what plants you have in your yard.” “I don’t care how the code is written for the program or who wrote it.” These “fill in the blanks” are not the same exploration and learning as having a conversation.

素直 (Sunao), the Student-Teacher Relationship, and Religious Faith

(This is an ongoing draft – the more I add the less organized it gets. For now. 3/25/07)

Sunao – I did not hear a satisfactory definition of this word during my whole time living in Japan. Every definition I heard was along the lines of, “A person who is sunao does what he is told without objecting or complaining.” Although I had the impression that sunao was a word with a positive connotation – a kind of virtue – the definitions I heard all had the sound of obedience, compliance, or other quality that oppressors or superiors would like to see in those who are of lower standing.